


Look At Us Now

by CastielAOTL



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-09 13:03:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11105124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastielAOTL/pseuds/CastielAOTL
Summary: After the events of Civil War, Steve, Clint, and Sam go on a rescue mission and run into a lot of trouble. Steve is captured by a man with unknown intentions, and Sam and Clint, both wounded, have no choice but to turn to Tony for help. Trust is questioned and tensions run high as the team scrambles to save Steve in time. Feedback appreciated!





	1. Captain's Orders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve, Sam, and Clint try to save a bunch of missing refugees and everything goes horribly wrong. Seeing no other choice, Clint takes himself and Sam to Avengers Tower to seek help from Tony. Tony is upset that Clint tries to waste alcohol on getting cleaned up.

Okay, so, maybe this mission didn’t quite go to plan. As Steve Rogers looked over at Clint and Sam struggling against the hordes of attackers, he frowned in frustration, trying to fight his own enemies with a gunshot wound in his abdomen—nothing he hadn’t done before, but it was never easy. At least this time he wasn’t fighting his best friend. This fight would have been a lot easier with his shield, but he couldn’t lament about it now. A fist slammed into the side of his head, and he grunted in pain as he stumbled and his helmet fell to the ground. Nope; this was definitely not going according to plan.

It didn’t take too much longer after that for Steve to realize that they were not going to win this fight. There was no way. It wasn’t possible. There were just too many of them. How they had so greatly underestimated their opponents’ numbers, he had no idea, but regardless, now they were screwed.

“Cap!” the captain turned when he heard Sam call him. “There’s too many; what do we do?”

It didn’t take more than two seconds for Steve to make a decision, and he knew Sam and Clint wouldn’t like it.

“Both of you get out,” he ordered, turning to block a knife attack. “Get out now! Go!”

“We’re not leaving you, Cap!” Clint refused, ripping his arrow out of the chest of one of his attackers and using it to stab another attacker in the eye. Not for the first time, he scolded himself for not staying retired.

“Yes you are!” Steve snapped. “Go! If you don’t, we have no shot! Falcon, take Hawkeye and go!”

“But Steve,” Sam started to argue. Steve was having none of it.

“Go!”

Sam hesitated, then knocked out the closest opponent to himself and grabbed the back of Clint’s uniform tightly. He unfolded his wings and shot into the air, getting as far away from the battle as he could, even as their attackers shot at them from the ground.

“What are you doing?” Clint demanded over the roar of the wind rushing past them. “We have to go back! At least drag him out, too!”

“I can only carry one of you at a time, Clint!” Sam snapped, looking down at him as his arm—and broken hand—strained to keep hold of him. “We can’t go back. Captain’s orders.”

Clint didn’t say another word, his chest aching as Sam flew him back to their, ahem, ‘borrowed’ Quinjet, finally touching down right beside it. Neither one was in good shape; both were bleeding—Sam rather alarmingly from his leg—and had several broken bones. They had no idea what they were going to do now, but they knew they had to decide quickly; they weren’t too far from the site of their defeat, and now, if they were going to help Steve, they had to get out of there. Wordlessly, the two of them walked—or, limped, really—into the jet, and Clint got behind the controls. In minutes, they were in the air.

“So where exactly are we going?” Sam asked after a moment or two of silence.

“Somewhere I will very likely regret going,” Clint replied. “But we don’t really have a choice, here.”

Sam just nodded, looking down at Steve’s helmet in his hands. He’d snatched it up right before they took off, intending to toss it back to him, but Steve hadn’t turned around. It had some blood on the outside, but a surprising amount of it on the inside as well. The sight made his stomach lurch. He couldn’t help but worry about what happened to his friend—he was a super soldier, sure, but he was still human; he had his limits. He just hoped to God that somehow, they’d get him back.

By the time Clint set the jet down, Sam was barely keeping his eyes open, the wound in his leg continuing to bleed. Clint hauled himself up from his seat with a grunt of pain, and when he took a step, he nearly fell, only just catching himself on the chair.

“You okay there?” Sam asked, standing up himself with extreme effort.

“I’m fine,” Clint said dismissively. “Let’s go.”

The master archer walked towards the back of the Quinjet, which had opened up to allow him access to the landing pad. Sam limped along behind him, his vision swimming with each step. When they got out into the open air—Sam immediately recognizing where they were and groaning internally—Clint removed an arrow—his last arrow—from his quiver and knocked it, taking shaky aim at the lock on the door in front of him. As always, he found his target, even with his injuries, and the lock exploded. Without a word, the two wounded Avengers—or ex-Avengers, now—strolled unsteadily back into Avengers Tower for the first time in months.

Shortly after crossing the threshold, Sam’s wounded leg gave out on him, and Clint reflexively caught him before he could fall—an action that nearly took them both down to the floor. Clint gritted his teeth, his numerous injuries becoming more and more painful as his adrenaline wore off. They’d just entered the living room before Clint couldn’t manage it anymore, and he lowered his friend to the floor, a trail of blood being left by both of them.

“I’m gonna grab something for that,” he nodded at the bleeding wound in Sam’s leg. “Don’t move.”

“Very funny,” Sam forced a chuckle. “Yeah, I was just about to go run a marathon.”

“Humor’s good,” Clint smiled, standing up carefully. “Means you’re probably not dying yet.”

“Lucky me,” Sam’s smile was more a grimace than anything else.

Clint didn’t respond, instead shuffling over to the bar, trying not to put a whole lot of pressure on his knee, which was throbbing painfully. He grabbed a towel and the strongest vodka he could find, then started making his way back over towards Sam. He froze before he even got back around the bar top when he heard Tony’s voice.

“First you break in, and now you’re stealing my booze?” Tony Stark had a piece of the Iron Man suit on his hand, and it was aimed right at Clint’s chest. “Dick move, Barton.”

“You can shoot me later, Tony,” Clint shrugged. “Right now...I’ve got shit to do.”

“What happened to you?” Tony’s eyes narrowed, noticing how much pain he was in when he moved, his arm only lowering slightly.

“Tony, either help me, or shut up,” Clint growled, the blood loss making him irritable. He started making his way back towards Sam, but before he even got half way there, he stopped, leaning against the wall as his vision danced.

“Barton?” concern made its way into Tony’s voice, and he quickly started towards the wounded archer, just making it in time to catch him before he fell.

“Alright, there we go, easy, buddy,” Tony grumbled, putting Clint’s arm around his shoulders and helping him to the couch as the metal on his hand retreated back into his watch.

“No, Tony, let me go,” he protested, trying to get up. Tony wouldn’t let him.

“Clint, you’re falling over,” Tony snapped. “Give me the vodka; I have actual disinfectant, you know. I can’t believe you were about to waste perfectly good alcohol on cleaning yourself up.”

“Not me,” Clint shook his head, his eyes moving in Sam’s direction even though he couldn’t see him. Tony followed his eyes, and was surprised when he saw the wounded man leaning against the wall, blood pooling under him. For a moment, he didn’t speak.

“You know, this is kinda like in the movies, when a bunch of birds fly full force into the windows and kill themselves,” he observed finally.

“I knew we shouldn’t have come here,” Sam breathed.

“Tony?” Clint craned his neck when he heard a familiar and dearly-missed voice. Sure enough, Natasha made her way into the room. “What the hell is going—?” She broke off when she saw Clint on the couch, and after a moment, she ran to him.

“What happened?” she demanded.

“I’m fine,” Clint said dismissively. “Take care of Sam.”

“Tony, go,” Natasha snapped. Tony hesitated for only another moment before grabbing the towel Clint had taken from the bar and going over to Sam’s side, putting pressure on the wound in his outer thigh. Sam let out a grunt of pain, his eyes squeezing shut.

“Oh, did that hurt?” Tony had a wicked gleam in his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

Sam glared at him, but didn’t say a word, a spark of guilt in his eyes. Tony glanced back at the door through which the two visitors had entered. It was then that he spotted the helmet that Sam had been carrying on the way in, but that he’d dropped when his leg gave out. Tony frowned when he saw it, and grabbed Sam’s hand, putting it on the towel covering his wound, forcing him to keep pressure on it. Then he got to his feet and walked over to the helmet, picking it up. He noticed the blood on it, the crack in it, and, most disturbingly, the blood inside it.

“Where’s Rogers?” he demanded after a moment. Natasha looked over at him, and when he saw Steve’s helmet in his hands, her blood ran cold. Neither man answered him, so he looked up at them.

“This is not a trick question,” he snapped irritably. “Where is Rogers? What happened?”

“He’s gone,” Sam spoke up, his voice dull.

“The hell do you mean, ‘gone?’” Natasha jumped in, looking down at Clint almost accusingly.

“We were surrounded,” Sam went on. “Our intel said there should have been a couple dozen guys there. It was more like a couple hundred. We had no idea what we were walking into. We were taking a beating—obviously—and Steve...”

“Cap told us to run,” Clint finished when Sam trailed off. “So we ran.”

“And you just left him there?” Tony gawked.

“You, of all people, have no room to talk about leaving your friends when they need you,” Sam snapped weakly. “You, of all people, have no room to talk about leaving him defenseless.”

“Sam,” Clint warned him to back off with just one syllable.

“I didn’t take Cap’s shield,” Tony shot back at the wounded ex-soldier. “He left it behind. Now, why did you come here, of all places?”

“We were relatively close,” Clint shrugged painfully. “Hell of a lot closer than Africa. And we weren’t gonna make it back to Africa.”

“And we...we need your help,” Sam admitted grudgingly. “There’s no one else.”

“What about all your buddies?” Tony couldn’t help but sound a little bitter. Natasha felt a tiny smirk when she also recognized a bit of jealousy. “Like, ah...what about that ant guy?”

“Visiting his daughter on the DL,” Clint replied, his headache starting to lessen just slightly now that he wasn’t trying to move so much.

“Barnes?”

“On ice.”

“Wanda?”

“She’s ah...visiting Vision on the DL,” Clint smirked.

“What?” Tony blinked.

“She thinks we don’t know,” the wounded archer shrugged. Tony gawked at him.

“Everybody knows,” Sam added.

“Okay, well...what about your friend the crazy cat lady?” Tony tried one more time.

“He’s running a nation, Tony,” Sam rolled his eyes. “It’s not like he can just give his responsibilities over to his girlfriend like somebody I know.”

“Alright, that’s it,” Tony sighed. “Everybody up. We’re leaving.”

“Tony, you can’t just throw them out,” Natasha protested.

“I’m not throwing them out,” Tony shook his head, reaching down and pulling Sam to his feet, allowing him to lean on him for support. “I’m driving.”

Natasha smiled slightly, then helped Clint to his feet, following Tony out to the Quinjet. The two Avengers gently put their former colleagues down in the back of the jet, and Natasha volunteered to keep an eye on them, allowing Tony to slide into the pilot’s seat. In a couple minutes, they were in the air.


	2. Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Clint both wake up (Steve very much on the wrong side of the bed), but Sam sleeps in because he is very tired.

When Steve finally managed to claw his way back to consciousness, he wasn’t sure how much time had passed, and he was equally unclear on why he was still alive. His head was throbbing, and he felt blood trickle down the back of his neck from a still-bleeding gash. He couldn’t open his eyes; it was like there were two hundred pound weights attached to each lid, keeping them shut. His limbs felt heavy, too, despite his arms being above his head. His mouth was cottony and dry, and he couldn’t keep his thoughts clear. It took him another ten minutes after regaining consciousness to actually wake up, and when he did, he forced his eyes open. The room he was in was extremely dark, but he could just make out the silhouette of a metal door to his right. He groaned softly, pinching his eyes shut as he shifted his legs under him. His upper body was being supported by thick, heavy, and from what he could feel, seamless chains around his wrists. His knees were able to rest completely on the floor, and if he straightened his legs over them, he could relieve some of the stress on his shoulders, but he was too tired to even think to do that.

As Captain America struggled both to breathe evenly with all his injuries and to get his wits about him again, a light turned on above his head, and he flinched away from the sudden brightness, pinching his eyes shut. His head retaliated against both the light and the quick movement by sending a stabbing pain through his skill, and the injured super soldier gritted his teeth. He opened his eyes very slowly, allowing his brain to adjust to the light gradually. Now that he was more awake and his adrenaline was pumping, he started to take stock of his surroundings. It was a quick assessment; he was in a small, windowless, concrete room. The door to his right was thick steel and had a small window in it that was currently closed. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the chains around his wrists looped over a thick metal bar and fed through a small, metal-framed hole in the back wall.

Finally, after taking in his surroundings, he started to take stock of himself. Right off the bat, he knew he had a fractured skull. He knew he had broken at least four ribs. His gunshot wound—which, thankfully, had been a glancing blow—had fortunately stopped bleeding, but it still throbbed. He had an intense bruise on his jaw and a cut above his eye. His uniform was torn in several places and now much more red than white or blue. His left wrist was either broken or severely sprained, and his right hand was definitely broken. His legs were covered in bruises, some particularly ugly ones on his hip and thigh. He’d heal quickly, he knew, but he was not in good shape.

The last thing he noticed was how cold it was. His shaky breaths were making clouds in front of his face. He could barely feel the fingers of his left hand. His teeth were starting to chatter despite his best efforts. He wasn’t quite sure how he ended up there—the last he remembered, he was still trying to fight his way out, and then there was an explosion that sent him flying—but he was sure that it couldn’t end well.

As if to punctuate his thoughts, the door to his right opened, and a man walked into the room, smirking at him victoriously. He was tall and thin, kind of spindly, but oddly imposing. Steve couldn’t tell what it was about him that was so unnerving—maybe the malice in his eyes, or his crooked teeth that somehow looked sharp and pointed—but whatever it was, it made goosebumps break out all over Steve’s body.

“Good morning, Captain,” he greeted the prisoner. “How’re you feeling?”

“Who are you?” Steve demanded, his voice shaking not of his own accord as he started shivering.

“I’m who you came here to stop,” the man sneered. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Doctor Lobo. This is my facility. I must admit, it was very noble of you to save your companions the way you did.”

Steve didn’t say anything, glaring at his captor and wondering what was going to happen to him, what this Doctor Lobo would do.

“I can see the question in your eyes, Captain,” Lobo chuckled, amusement in his eyes. “And no, I’m not going to take this time to tell you everything you need to know to stop me.”

“Where are they?” Steve demanded boldly with a growl.

“Who?” the doctor asked with a smirk.

“The people you kidnapped,” Steve snapped. “The people who just wanted to get away, just wanted safety, which you exploited.”

“Some are dead,” Lobo shrugged. “Some wish they were. The rest are waiting to find out which category they’ll fall into.”

“There were children,” Steve protested in horror. “Dozens of innocent children. All those people were innocent.”

“I’m sure,” Lobo nodded. “Yeah, the kids don’t usually last.”

“You’re sick,” Steve spat, hatred in his words.

“And you’re very likely to die in the next few days,” Lobo grinned wolfishly. “Poor Captain America. You had the world at your back not long ago. Now you’re going to rot in here alone. So much for loyalty, huh?”

Steve didn’t have an answer to this; if anything, he hoped Lobo was right, and that Clint and Sam would not come back for him. Not unless they got some serious backup. Otherwise, none of them would make it out. Lobo smiled at his silence, then took a step back, grabbing the door handle before looking at him again.

“Enjoy your stay, Captain Rogers,” he said after a moment. “I hope you’ll find it as educational as I will.”

Steve watched him go, and let out a shaky breath as his chest heaved painfully, having done his best to steady his breathing while Lobo was there. He didn’t want to know why the doctor was so excited to get his hands on him. But he had a sinking feeling that he was going to find out anyway.

**********

When Clint opened his eyes, sunlight was filtering in through the window to his left, and he sat up slowly, grimacing at every movement.

“Finally,” the master archer turned towards the voice and saw Tony unhitch himself from the wall and walk towards him. “Look alive, Barton. Tell me what happened.”

“I’d love to,” Clint groaned, rubbing his eyes gingerly. “You first.”

“You passed out on the jet,” Tony sighed, sounding irritated. “You’re at the New Facility. I had Helen Cho come in and patch you up. You broke a rib and bruised three more, dislocated your knee, bruised your jaw and your...” he waved a hand over his face in a circular motion, “face in general, and sprained your left wrist and ankle. Your turn. What happened?”

“Are you going to turn us in?” Clint demanded, raising an eyebrow, his guard up.

“You’re not handcuffed to the bed, are you?” Tony shot back. “Come on, Barton; what the hell happened?”

Clint hesitated, studying his former colleague, his former friend, carefully, trying to determine if he was telling the truth. Finally, he gave a slow nod.

“A number of refugees went missing as they were fleeing their country,” Clint began. “You remember hearing about that?”

“Of course,” Tony nodded.

“Well, we got information that it was actually a lot of refugees,” he continued. “Close to two thousand. And we talked to their families—the ones that actually had families that made it out—and they all had the same story. A tall man approached them, told them he could get them out of the country undetected. He was a doctor providing aid to the region, and could smuggle people out among his supplies. He always came when there was no more space anywhere else. So the families split up, and everyone who went with that man disappeared.”

“And you went after him,” Tony finished, rubbing his eyes.

“You weren’t going to,” Clint shot back. “Since you signed those accords, you can’t do shit unless your masters give the okay. We weren’t gonna sit on our asses through all the bureaucracy.”

“You went in with just the three of you,” Tony snapped. “You’re lucky you weren’t killed.”

“And who do you suggest we should have asked for help?” Clint argued. “The only ones we could have asked were you and Nat, and while I’m very confident that she would have helped us out, no questions asked, you haven’t exactly been a reliable ally lately, Stark.”

Tony opened his mouth to argue, but broke off when Natasha walked into the room. Black Widow smiled when she saw her best friend awake.

“Finally,” she commented. “You had me worried. Actually, you had a lot of people worried. Laura says hi.”

“Thanks, Nat,” Clint chuckled. “Where’s Sam?”

“In the other room,” Natasha told him, folding her arms over her chest and nodding back the way she came. “He’s still out. He lost a lot of blood.”

“Is he gonna be okay?” Hawkeye raised an eyebrow. “Cap seems very fond of him, so I’d hate to have to break the news if something happened.”

“He should be fine,” Natasha assured him.

“Hey, Barton, stay focused,” Tony interrupted. “Where is Rogers?”

“Well, with any luck,” he sighed, throwing the blankets off of himself and starting to get up, “in the same compound we were trying to go to.”

“Barton, you are not going back out there,” Tony shook his head.

“The hell I’m not,” Clint scoffed. “I’m good to go. I got a brace on my knee, ankle, and wrist. I can shoot just fine like that. And somebody has got to go after Cap.”

“Somebody will,” Tony promised. “But not you.”

“Then who?” Clint challenged.

“Us,” Tony shot back. “We will bring Cap back. You’re hurt; you need to rest up. Who knows when we’re going to need to pretend to need you?”

“No,” Clint refused, standing up and trying to hide the pain on his face. “No, I left him there, I’m bringing him back. You’re welcome to come along, but I’m going. This is not a debate.”

“God, your whole team just makes me want to...” he put his hands out in front of him, palms facing each other, fingers tight and hooked like claws, as if he were strangling an invisible foe, and shook his hands back and forth in frustration. “Can’t _any_ of you be logical, even for a minute?”

“Come with me or don’t, Stark,” Clint growled. Then his face softened slightly and he grudgingly admitted, “I could use your help.”

Tony hesitated, studying his long-time friend and former colleague. “I’ll help,” he agreed at last. “But we’re not running into this thing half-cocked like you three idiots. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but we need a plan of attack. So,” he clapped his hands together and rubbed them back and forth, “let’s get started.”


	3. 097

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve meets one of Lobo's unwilling assistants, Tony and the gang get a plan together.

Hours had passed since Doctor Lobo’s visit, and Steve wasn’t doing so well. His body and mind were fighting violently between sleep and wakefulness. His injuries and general exhaustion were pulling him towards unconsciousness, but the bitter, biting cold and the fact that, every few minutes, a blaring alarm went off in his cell for a few seconds were yanking him back towards consciousness. It was a tiring, endless battle. Finally, his exhaustion proved too powerful, and he tumbled into the warm, inviting darkness, but only for a few minutes. Just as he’d become truly asleep, a strong jolt of electricity pumped through his body, and he was violently tugged back to the waking world as a scream of pain ripped free of his throat. After a few seconds, it was over, and Steve let his head hang, gasping for air. He wondered how much longer he could last without sleep, shifting his numb legs underneath him, his body trembling both with exhaustion and cold. Another blaring alarm sounded, and he flinched back, grimacing at the sound.

The wounded super soldier lifted his head when the door opened, and watched as a guard—wearing the same uniform as the rest of his colleagues: black boots, black pants, dark blue shirt under a black coat, black gloves, an automatic rifle, and a black ski mask—held the door as another person came scurrying in, wearing a thin white coat zipped almost all the way up, heavy gray pants, and gray, laceless shoes, the kind inmates wear. When Steve blinked away the blurriness from his vision, he realized that he was looking at a young girl. She was about fifteen years old, and her dark hair was pulled away from her face in a neat ponytail. She wouldn’t look him in the eye, and looked absolutely petrified as she came towards him. Captain America felt sympathy tug at his heart, but still, he knew he couldn’t let his guard down.

“What’s going on?” he demanded shakily, his voice not nearly as strong or loud as he’d hoped. The girl’s eyes darted towards him, the fear in their dark depths seeming to quintuple in seconds. It was almost as if she were begging him to be quiet. The look succeeded at temporarily shocking him into silence, and she took that time to reach into the small, white satchel bag over her left shoulder and pull out a tablet, turning it on. As she fiddled around with the device, Steve noticed the silvery metal collar around her neck, just visible under her coat, and a rock formed in the pit of his stomach.

After finding the right program, she set the tablet down and pulled out what looked like an oval-shaped, white chip clip. It wasn’t until she clipped it around his left index finger that he realized it was a wireless heart rate monitor.

“What are you doing?” the soldier’s guard went up again, and he quickly clenched his fist and flicked off the monitor clip. The girl looked as though she’d stopped breathing, but Steve stood his ground. “You stay away from me.”

The girl stared at him in pure terror and hurriedly snatched up the monitor, trying to reattach it, but Steve refused to open his hands, no matter how much it hurt to keep them closed. After a few seconds, the girl let out an agonized cry and fell to her knees, one hand supporting herself on the floor and the other flying to her neck. Steve gawked at her in shock and horror as she gasped for air, her body now shaking.

“Let her work, Captain,” the guard behind her spoke up, his voice muffled by the mask and slightly accented. “Or she pays the price.”

Steve felt sick to his stomach, staring first at him before his eyes shifted back to her. The young girl stared back at him with wide eyes, begging him without words to cooperate. After a few seconds, he wordlessly opened his hands, resigning himself to whatever it was she was supposed to do to him. The girl looked at him gratefully, fighting back tears as she shakily scooped up the monitor and stood up, clipping it again to his left index finger. Then she picked up the tablet and took a stylus from the pocket of her coat, tapping at the screen, her hands trembling. She still refused to look at the trapped soldier unless absolutely necessary as she went about her tasks. She unclipped the monitor after about a minute, took his temperature via his ear, shined a light in his eyes, and did various other tests, all the while making notes on the tablet. It was all over in less than seven minutes, and the girl quickly hurried out of the room, keeping her head down. Steve stared after her, baffled and concerned, as the guard left as well, closing and locking the door behind him.

Captain America was left alone again, his adrenaline now preventing him from trying to drift back to sleep as he attempted to make sense of what he’d just seen and to figure out what it implied. Only twenty minutes passed before the door opened again, and he looked up to see Doctor Lobo stroll back into the room, looking smug as ever.

“What the hell was that?” Steve demanded immediately, his anger serving to steady his voice. “Who was that girl? What was she doing?”

“Her name is...” the doctor trailed off, his brow furrowing. “You know, I can’t recall. I’ll have to check my records later. She goes by ‘number zero-nine-seven,’ though. Or, she does now. She’s one of the few I’ve plucked from the masses. My little pets. And she was helping me keep an eye on your vitals.”

“Why did you hurt her?” the captain snarled, his anger growing with every word the so-called doctor spoke.

“Because she wasn’t getting her job done,” Lobo shrugged, as if it were simple. “My pets are quite aware that their actions—and inactions—have consequences.”

“She wouldn’t even speak,” Steve shook his head in disgust.

“She’s not allowed to,” Lobo chuckled, amused by Steve’s disdain for him. “None of them are. Not unless I tell them to.”

“You’re sick,” Steve spat the words, disgust in his eyes.

“You’ve said that,” Lobo chuckled. “And maybe it’s true, but in the end, I’ve still got you right where I want you.”

“And where exactly is that?” Steve challenged. “What is it you want with me?”

“Now why would I ruin that surprise?” Lobo smirked. “Get ready, Captain; I’ve only just begun my work with you.”

With this, the doctor turned and left, but as he walked away, Steve felt the tension on his chains increase, and he drew a quick breath as they pulled him upwards. The soldier let out a sharp cry of pain when he felt the hard metal bite into his traumatized flesh. The chains continued getting shorter until his knees were just a few inches off the floor. Steve had to force himself to breathe, his right hand and wrist screaming in pain. To relieve the strain, he pulled himself to his feet, which allowed his wrists to come down in front of him. He felt his biceps tingle as blood flow was restored, and his legs felt like jelly as they struggled to support him.

Letting out a weary, trembling sigh, the captain let his head fall forward, his bruised forehead resting against the chains. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew that he was well and truly screwed at this point. The security was too tight. The civilians were in the way. He himself just couldn’t keep his eyes open for long. The odds were not in his favor, and Steve knew, in spite of himself, that if he didn’t find a way out soon, he probably never would.

**********

“Alright,” Tony sighed, sitting down at the table in their briefing room, Natasha across from him and Clint lingering in the entryway. “Tell me what you got.”

Hawkeye hesitated, then slowly sat down at the end of the table. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking. “We tracked the missing refugees to a compound in northern Canada. Like, _way_ northern. North enough that it made sense why no authorities had discovered its location. It also helped that it was cloaked from satellite view. We only found it because we managed to find the organization that this doctor was supposedly working for and tagged a bunch of shipments. Turns out, he really does work for them, and he also was having supplies diverted to his compound. Everything looked on the up-and-up until we realize that the supplies seemed to literally disappear off the face of the Earth. They all got to the same location, and then we lost signal and couldn’t see anything on satellite. So, we went by to check it out, sat on the place for a while, got a sense of their numbers, and went back to get a plan together. We had to move fast; people were still going missing. Children were going missing, Tony. Some of them were as young as seven years old.”

“I get why you went, Barton,” Tony shook his head. “I just think you weren’t terribly smart about it.”

“We monitored that place for weeks,” Clint said defensively. “There weren’t supposed to be more than fifty total, and only a couple dozen guarding the outside.”

“Well, fifty or two hundred, we’re going back,” Stark shrugged. “And very soon.”

“We should plan more, Tony,” Natasha argued. “I want Steve back, too, but getting all of us killed seems like a dumb rescue plan.”

“They won’t be expecting another attack so quickly,” Tony pointed out. “If we go tonight, we’ll take them by surprise. I’ll try to get in touch with Vision and apparently Wanda, and even if they don’t answer, we’ll have the Iron Legion and way more fire power. Look, are you in or out, Romanov?”

Natasha hesitated, glancing between Tony and Clint before letting out a weary sigh, “I’m in.”

“Great,” Tony seemed almost relieved. “We leave in four hours.”


	4. Blown Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lobo is a trickster; Natasha, Tony, and Clint have a blast; Steve witnesses his worst nightmare.

By the time the Avengers—or whatever it was they were supposed to be called now—began nearing their destination, the sun had long-since set, and with the Quinjet in stealth mode, they were nearly undetectable from the ground. Clint was at the controls, his quiver now replenished, and Natasha and Tony were in the back, getting ready to go; they hadn’t been able to get ahold of Wanda or Vision, so they were going alone. The Iron Legion was just a few miles behind them, waiting until they were needed. Just like the last time, Clint set the jet down a ways away from the actual building and opened up the back. At the last minute, they’d decided to bring along two ATVs so that he and Natasha could keep up with Tony.

“Alright,” Tony said as Clint and Natasha climbed onto their respective four-wheelers. “Keep your eyes peeled. I’ll let you know if I see anything.”

With this, Iron Man launched himself up into the air, and the two master assassins took off through the thin forest. Before long, they made it to the compound—a stone structure designed to blend into the landscape, standing two stories high and about the length of a football field—and Clint couldn’t help but let shock into his expression when he found that the whole place was deserted. There wasn’t a soul in sight.

“You sure this is the place, Barton?” Tony asked, looking over at him from where he hovered in the air as Clint got off his ATV. “I expected to be fighting by now.”

“This is the place,” Clint glared at his teammate.

“If you say so,” Tony shrugged. “I’ll have the Iron Legion stand watch out here; let’s go look around.”

**********

Steve looked up when the door to his prison opened once again, and scowled when he saw Doctor Lobo standing in front of him, looking as smug as ever.

“What do you want?” the exhausted soldier demanded, his eyes heavy and his legs numb.

“I have a treat for you, Captain,” Lobo grinned. Two guards came in behind him and went over to the prisoner, releasing the chains around his wrists only to securely restrain them behind his back. They pushed him forward, forcing him to walk, and Steve stumbled slightly before he righted himself, his chest heaving as pain shot through him with every movement. Thankfully, most of his wounds were healing nicely, but they were in no way healed completely. “Come with me.”

Steve glared at the man before him, reluctantly moving his feet to keep up as the guards pushed him onwards. When he left his cell, he was met by six more guards, all taking up positions around him, but there was no need for quite that much force; trailing behind Doctor Lobo were two young kids—the girl from earlier and a boy a bit younger than her, both dressed in identical outfits—meaning that Steve would not fight back, lest they get hurt in the process.

Steve was led down a series of dimly-lit, slightly damp concrete hallways, until they stopped in front of a metal door that Lobo promptly opened. Inside, there was a large screen taking up at least half of one wall, a couple computers on a glass table off to one side, and, as if just to complicate things more, two more guards and a young girl of no more than ten, wearing the same outfit as the first two. Steve swallowed hard, then allowed the guards holding his arms to push him into a metal chair bolted to the floor and secure him in place. His arms were restrained behind his back by metal cuffs mounted to a thick metal plate, each cuff taking up three quarters of his forearm, not allowing him any leverage and not much range of motion.

“What is this about?” the super soldier demanded. “Why am I here?”

“You’ll see,” Lobo smirked. One of the guards went over to the computers and tapped a few keys. All at once, the huge screen came to life, and Steve’s breath caught in his throat when he saw Clint walking slowly and carefully down a concrete hallway, an arrow knocked and his bow at the ready.

“Oh, no,” Steve mumbled to himself.

“It seems your friend just couldn’t seem to leave you behind,” Lobo observed. “Not a very smart move on his part; he won’t find anything. And, of course, there’s the fact that that whole building is rigged to blow.”

Steve snapped his head to the side, looking at the doctor in horror. “What?” he gasped finally, his face becoming paler than it already was.

“We’re not in the building you attacked, Captain,” Lobo chuckled. “We never were. If anything, that place was like a warehouse or a halfway point for my supplies and my subjects. They won’t find anything useful, and once I’m sure they’ve gone deep enough inside, I’ll blow the place sky high.”

“They?” Even more color drained from Steve’s face at the mention of the pronoun, hardly daring to breathe.

“Ah, yes,” Lobo nodded, waving a hand in the direction of the guard at the computer. The guard hit a few more keys and the large screen in front of the captive split into three, with the feed showing Clint on the bottom and two more up on top in an upside-down pyramid. Steve was sure his heart stopped beating when he saw Natasha and Tony all searching the building.

“Please,” Steve gasped. “Please, please, you...you don’t have to do this...please, just don’t do this...don’t kill them; I’m begging you.”

“Again, that’s very noble of you, Captain,” Lobo chuckled. “But unfortunately, your friends pose a significant threat to my plans.”

Steve stared at him in horror, his eyes wide and his lips parted, before he turned back to the screen, silently begging his friends to turn and run, praying they’d just give up and go home, while at the same time knowing they wouldn’t. It just wasn’t in their nature.

********** 

Tony moved slowly through the dark hallway, one floor below the surface, searching for any sign of their missing friend, but so far, he’d found nothing. After clearing every single room in the long hall, the billionaire let out a sigh.

“Anybody got anything?” he asked his two companions, who had each taken a different floor.

“Nothing on the main floor,” Clint reported.

“And nothing on the top floor,” Natasha told him with a sigh.

Tony groaned in frustration, closing his eyes for a moment. Then he shook his head and spoke again, “Alright, guys; let’s head out. He’s not here.”

He turned, about to head back towards the stairs, when he heard a noise behind him in the room he just cleared. Spinning back around, he saw nothing, but he could hear the noise again, like a muffled voice.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., gimme somethin’,” Tony said with a frown, still looking around, trying to find the source of the noise.

“Detecting an air current coming from the floor in the far right corner,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. reported, and Tony quickly flew over to the opposite side of the concrete room. He picked up a stack of crates that were resting there, and was met with a metal trap door.

“Guys, get down here,” Tony ordered over their secure channel. “I’ve got something.”

In minutes, first Clint and then Natasha came into the room. It only took one look at the trap door for them to understand what was going on, and both quickly readied their weapons once more. Once they were ready, Tony reached down and ripped the trap door off its hinges. There was a ladder descending into a dark abyss, and the three of them exchanged glances before Tony flew down first, followed by Natasha and then Clint. Once they were down the ladder, there was only one place to go: down a short hallway with a metal-grated, in-floor air vent making up the center of it, at the end of which was a thick metal door. Now that they were down there, all three of them could tell what the sound was; someone was screaming.

“Rogers?” Tony called, taking a few steps closer to the door.

“Guys, I don’t like this,” Clint spoke up, sounding tense. “Why would they leave him here with no one to guard him? This is screaming ‘trap’ right now.”

“Even if it is a trap, are you really telling me you’d rather leave right now without first checking to see if it’s him?” Tony shot back, again drawing nearer to the door.

“Clint’s right, Tony,” Natasha added with a sigh.

“Rogers, can you hear us?” Tony ignored them both, but still didn’t make a move to open the door.

**********

“Come on, guys, please, just go...” Steve muttered under his breath. “That’s not me; don’t open the door...”

“Oh, it’s as you as it can be without the genuine article,” Lobo told him with a smirk. “We had the recordings of your screams, but we also had several recordings of your voice; enough to create a program that sounds just like you.”

“Please,” Steve tried begging again, pulling at his restraints as hard as he could but getting nowhere and only causing himself more pain. “Please, just stop this! Whatever you want from me, you don’t have to hurt them!”

“On the contrary,” Lobo shook his head, “I do.”

“I’ll do anything,” Captain America could hear the desperation in his own voice as his chest heaved. “Please, I will do anything, just don’t kill them.”

“You’ll do anything anyway,” Lobo grinned at him like a snake. They heard Tony ask if Steve could hear him, and the doctor turned to the guard at the computer. “Raymore; start replying to Mr. Stark.”

**********

“Rogers!” Tony tried one more time, just looking for a break in the screams, something to tell him that whatever was behind the door wasn’t a recording.

“T...Tony!” The voice was muffled and hard to decipher through the thick metal, but there was no denying it; it was Steve. “Tony, is that you?”

Clint and Natasha looked at each other in shock, then rushed forward until they were standing at the door, trying to figure a way in; there was no door handle, and the keypad on the right-hand wall had been destroyed.

“It’s us, Steve!” Natasha called, then clenched her teeth when she heard him scream again. “We’ll have you out in a few; don’t worry!”

“Talk to us, Spangles!” Tony yelled to be heard through the door. “What’s going on in there?”

“P-Please,” they heard Steve gasp, “please, just hurry!”

That was all Tony needed to hear. “Stand back,” he ordered his companions. Clint and Natasha quickly shuffled back from him as far as they could, and Tony fired one powerful blast, sending the door flying into the room. Without hesitation, Tony flew into the room, and as soon as he did, he regretted it. Steve, of course, was not there. In his place was easily the largest bomb Tony had ever seen. It had been set off when it sensed motion—i.e. when the door was blasted into the room—and its ten-second delay was down to five.

“Guys, run!” Iron Man ordered, starting to fly back as fast as he could, but he wasn’t fast enough; he only made it half way down the thirty-foot hallway before the bomb detonated, and the last thing he remembered before he lost consciousness was seeing Natasha pull Clint into the air vent.

**********

“No!” Steve shouted in horror, again yanking on his restraints, which just made all the guards tense, aiming their guns at him as all the video feeds cut out, dissolving into static. The still-wounded captain stared at the screen in open-mouthed horror, feeling as though he might be sick. He could hardly believe his eyes; he’d just watched his friends die. Crushing helplessness settled in his chest, and he had to remind himself to breathe, fighting off tears.

“I hope you understand now that no one’s coming to save you, Captain,” Lobo’s voice was cold and taunting. “There’s no getting out of here. Not until I’m done with you.”

Steve didn’t answer, hardly able to breathe as he kept staring at the blank screen. Lobo just smirked and nodded at the guards, and before Steve knew it, they were bringing him back to his cell. This time, the chains had been shortened yet again, and he was now forced to stand, whether he wanted to or not. He hardly noticed; his entire body felt numb after what he’d seen. It was like losing Bucky all over again, except now the devastation was magnified threefold. All his thoughts were foggy, like they just couldn’t seem to form. What was he supposed to do now? Three of his closest friends, most trusted allies—and yes, he still counted Tony among those, despite everything that happened—were gone.

Finally, Steve let his head hang, closing his eyes and clenching his jaw. There was nothing he could do to save Clint, Natasha, or Tony now. But he damn well could avenge them.


	5. Use the Force

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short one, but oh well; there's more if I feel like posting it. Which, tbh, at this point, I might just let this one die. But anyway, Tony fends off a panic attack, and Clint and Natasha stop having to be so uncomfortably close to each other.

When Tony opened his eyes, he had a splitting headache and couldn’t see a thing. After a moment of panic, he realized that he could see just fine—he could even make out vague shapes in front of him—but it was just incredibly dark. His suit was struggling to reboot itself, the damage done by the explosion and subsequent building collapse having been extensive. Tony was pinned under mounds of rubble, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t move. Upon realizing he was trapped, his heart began to race, panic setting in once more. The billionaire closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, forcing himself to take a few deep breaths and calm down.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., how’re we lookin’?” he asked after a moment. He got a muffled grumble of static in response, and he let out a sigh. “That good, huh?”

Groaning and shifting as best he could, he tried to remember if he’d landed on his back or his stomach when the bomb went off. He could vaguely see boulders in front of his face, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was facing the surface. Finally, he decided it was worth a shot; when his suit managed to power up (as much as it could), he quickly fired a blast straight ahead from his chest. He couldn’t really see what kind of difference that made, but after a few minutes, he heard the rubble shift above him, felt some of the weight lessen, and before he knew it, he was staring up at the night sky. And then, before he could do anything else, he felt himself rising out of the massive hole in the ground, and when he made it to the surface, he saw Vision, Wanda, and Sam all standing at the back of the building; only part of the structure had collapsed, and it was mostly still intact.

“Well, good of you three to join the party,” Tony teased when Wanda set him down again. He quickly ejected from his ruined suit, stepping out of it shakily and stumbling before Sam caught him.

“Are you alright, Mr. Stark?” Vision asked, sounding concerned.

“Oh, yeah, I’m good,” Tony assured him dizzily. “When did you guys get here?”

“Ten minutes ago,” Sam told him, releasing his grip when he was sure Tony wouldn’t fall. “The hell happened?”

“We, ah...we went after Rogers, and we...we heard him down in the cellar, but...it was a trap. There was a bomb. We triggered it when we went in after him,” Tony explained. Then he looked around and frowned. “Where are Natasha and Barton?”

“We don’t know,” Wanda responded. “We only found you when you sent up that blast.”

“Well they gotta be around here somewhere!” Tony fought to keep the worry and panic from his voice. “Come on! Use the Force and pull up some more rocks!”

Wanda gave him a dirty look, but turned back to the wreckage anyway, lifting more and more pieces of the ruined building off of the lowest floor. Finally, they could see the air vents, and Tony stopped her.

“I saw them jump into one of those right before the bomb went off,” he reported. Without a word, Sam unfolded his wings and jumped down into the hole, the wings slowing his descent and allowing him to land lightly on his feet.

“Barton!” he called, unable to see clearly into the vents; they were still half obscured by debris, and dirt and rocks were wedged into the openings. “Romanoff! You in there?”

Sam heard a muffled, unintelligible reply, and he quickly got to work moving as much debris as he could, with Wanda’s assistance from above. Before long, they managed to uncover the two master assassins, and they were relieved to see that both of them were unhurt.

“It’s about time,” Natasha grumbled, pushing open the grate that had protected them from the majority of the debris and standing up. “It was getting a little cramped in there.”

“Thanks for the assist,” Clint added, getting to his feet as well. “Good call on the air vent, Nat.”

“Yeah,” Natasha nodded absently. “Steve had the same idea while we were on the run from Hydra. I figured, if it worked then...”

“Smart,” Clint smirked.

“Yeah, yeah, one at a time; let’s go,” Sam held his arm out towards Natasha, and she stepped towards him. Falcon wrapped his arm around her midsection, then took off into the air, setting her down once they made it back to solid ground. He turned to go back for Clint, but he found that he was already touching down beside them, thanks to Wanda.

“Well, I get how Sam knew where we were,” Tony sighed. “But how did you two?”

“I got your message,” Wanda explained. “Vision went back to the New Facility and found Sam, who told him what happened, and then we all went after you.”

“Okay, yeah, speaking of that,” Tony turned to Vision. “Really, Vision? All this time, never once thought, ‘hmm, maybe I should bring her in?’”

“I see what you’re upset about, Mr. Stark, but I would like to remind you that it’s very unlikely I could have brought her in even if I wanted to,” Vision said defensively.

“Not the time, guys,” Sam cut in. “What happened?”

“It was a trap,” Clint sighed. “From what I could tell, they were never here in the first place. We attacked a dummy location.”

“Yeah, but Steve is definitely still in a lot of trouble,” Tony added.

“Those sounds weren’t real, Tony,” Natasha reminded him.

“But they had to come from somewhere, right?” the billionaire argued. Natasha didn’t respond, chewing her lip instead. “Wherever he is, he’s hurt. Those screams were recorded, not manufactured. We need to find him fast.”

“And how do you suggest we do that?” Wanda asked, still not exactly Tony’s biggest fan but willing to do almost anything to help Steve.

“Let’s see, the last place anybody saw him was right here, right?” Tony sighed as he studied his ruined suit, which was now barely managing to stay upright where he’d left it.

“Yep,” Clint nodded solemnly. “Right here.”

“Well,” Stark turned on his heels to look at them, “then let’s start here.”


	6. The Great Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Run, boy, run.

Steve wasn’t sure how long it had been since he saw Tony, Clint, and Natasha murdered before his eyes, only that it had been at least a couple days—his minor injuries had all healed, and his more major wounds had finally become bearable. In that time, his chains had been lengthened again, and he was back onto his knees. Something else had changed, too—now, instead of bitter cold, the room was unbearably hot, and the humidity was so high every breath felt like he was drowning. His uniform was clinging to his drenched skin, making him feel claustrophobic as he knelt there in the middle of the room. He had been visited several times by the doctor’s unwilling assistants: once by the same girl he met the first time around, and three more times by new kids that he didn’t recognize, further confirming to him that a few days had passed. They were all children, Steve had noticed. The oldest he’d met was about sixteen. Why all the people the doctor was “keeping” were children, he had no idea, but he also wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.

They were still trying to keep him awake, but it was getting harder. The physical exhaustion was only getting more extreme as time went on. Even now that his injuries were much less painful, his muscles were aching from being so tense from the cold and now so dehydrated by the heat. His head was pounding both from his fractured skull and from the fact that he couldn’t sleep. He guessed that he’d only managed to rack up half an hour of even something close to sleep in the time since he’d first woken up. The loud buzzer that sounded every few minutes made him flinch every time, and at this point, the sleep deprivation was starting to weigh on his mind. His thoughts were hazy. He couldn’t keep his eyes open. Every time he tried to come up with a plan, his mind would wander, and he’d soon forget anything he came up with. It was frustrating on top of everything else.

Still, he kept trying. He had to get out of there. He owed it to Tony and Clint and Natasha—and Sam, who may have died before he could even get help, since he wasn’t there during the failed rescue mission—to get out and make Lobo pay for what he’d done. He owed it to Lobo’s victims. He owed it to himself. And so, he kept trying, kept looking for a solution.

He knew there was a pattern. There was a routine to how they were coming to check on him. He knew that. The thing was, since he couldn’t sleep, time was becoming a blur. He had no idea how much time passed between visits; every time he tried to count, his thoughts would trail off and slow. He had to get it together. He had to focus. He had to get out of there, or his friends would have died for nothing.

Taking a deep breath, Steve looked up at his restraints. The seamless chains encircled his wrists tightly, and were secured with a thick lock several feet above his hands. Even with him on his knees, if he stood up, he still couldn’t quite reach it. And even if he could reach it, he wasn’t sure he could break it.

 _That is ridiculous,_ he thought to himself. _I can punch a punching bag so hard it rips itself out of the ceiling. I have lifted—hell, thrown—motorcycles with ease. I have literally run through walls. I should be able to break a damn padlock._

Still, he wasn’t sure, considering how exhausted he was. But then, what choice did he really have? They weren’t going to let him out of his restraints again any time soon. Breaking the lock was his only play.

Alright, so he had that figured out. But now he had to deal with how he was going to manage to get out of the room. There were two cameras on him—one in front and one behind—and the door didn’t have a handle on the inside. It seemed impossible. But he knew it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. He just had to think.

Finally, after God knew how long of fruitless attempts at planning and countless unfinished thoughts, it dawned on him. There was one guard stationed outside his cell of a room at all times. Just one; he paced the door and Steve could the shadows of his feet under the crack. All he had to do was lure him in, get him to come close, and maybe...

It could work. It had to work.

Taking a deep breath, Steve began to convincingly feign extreme pain in his abdomen. Groaning at first, he slowly built up to screams, even forcing tears from his eyes and gritting his teeth as he let anguish play across his face. After a few minutes of this, the guard finally opened the door.

“What’s the problem?” he growled irritably.

“I...I don’t know...” Steve gasped, pretending to bite back a scream. “My...my stomach...God, it hurts so bad...”

The guard hesitated, seeming unsure, even though Steve could only see his eyes and mouth. The super soldier screamed again, and the guard tensed.

“Alright, alright, I’ll take a look; just quiet down,” the man agreed finally. He put his gun across his back, and Steve let himself gasp for air, flexing his feet so his toes were on the floor, ready to push himself up, as the guard came closer.

Just as the masked man reached for him, Steve summoned his remaining strength and shot up to his feet, driving his knee into the man’s face. The guard grunted in pain, but before he could stumble out of range, Steve quickly spun him around and wrapped his arm around his throat in a sleeper hold. The guard tried fighting, but it was no use, and in seconds, he was unconscious. Steve let him fall, then immediately started climbing the chains above his head towards the lock, knowing he didn’t have much time. He heard shouting in the distance, and his chains started to shorten, disappearing behind the back wall. Steve grit his teeth and finally grabbed the lock, pulling on it with all his strength. The chains were pulling him up towards the ceiling and the thick metal bar that spanned the width of the room. The soldier pulled again and again, but the lock wouldn’t budge. Finally, he let go of the chains with his left hand so that he was hanging exclusively from the lock as he continued to rise off the floor, lifted his weight up as best he could, then pulled down with all his strength and all his weight.

As if an answer to his prayers, the lock broke at last, and he was allowed to fall to the floor. The wounded man stumbled, but managed to stay upright, and grabbed the gun off of the guard he’d incapacitated, quickly checking the clip before starting for the door. At the last minute, he paused and went back to the guard, searching his body. He found a satellite phone and three replacement magazines, and could hardly contain his relief. He quickly pocketed the magazines, and as he ran out the door and down the hallway, he dialed a number he’d made himself memorize and brought the phone to his ear, praying for another miracle. 

**********

It had been four days since the team had lost Steve, and three since they’d failed to rescue him. The six heroes were still at the New Facility—despite the risks—searching for their missing friend. Tony and Natasha were trying to track the activity just outside the area that was cloaked from satellite view—standing to reason, they had to get Steve out of that area, and to do that, they had to have left the cloaked area—but so far, they hadn’t had much luck tracking that activity back to Steve. Clint was with them, wanting to at least feel like he was going something, and trying to keep the morale up. Wanda was getting more and more anxious as time went on, so Vision was in the training center with her, helping her blow off steam. And Sam, well...Sam wanted to be alone. He was in the gym, unleashing a string of furious punches on the hanging punching bag, frustration and worry fueling each and every hit.

Along with the frustration and worry, guilt was gnawing at his insides as well. He should have been there. He never should have left Steve behind. He should have gone back for him. He should have fought harder. Maybe then, Steve would be safe.

But guilt was doing him no good. And so, he fought. He let his guilt and anger fuel him. He was lost in it, attacking the bag with everything in him. He was so consumed by it that he almost didn’t notice when his phone started ringing in his gym bag. Reluctantly, the soldier ceased his assault and went over to his bag, grabbing a towel and wiping the sweat from his face as he fished out his phone, barely glancing at the unfamiliar number before answering.

“Hello?”

“Sam!” the connection was weak, and the line crackled, but Sam would know that voice anywhere. “Sam, thank God; I thought you might be dead!”

“Steve,” Sam gasped in shock before he snapped himself out of it, quickly running for the room Tony, Natasha, and Clint had made into their headquarters. “Steve, stay on the line, man; we’re gonna find you. Are you okay? What happened?”

“I took out a guard,” Steve explained. “I don’t...I’m not sure where I’m going, but anywhere’s better than there. Don’t know how much longer I can talk; the guards are closing in.”

“Just stay on the line, Cap!” Sam ordered, running as fast as he could up the stairs, taking them two at a time. “Talk to me; where are you? What’s outside?”

“Snow,” Steve replied, breathing just as heavily as Sam, or perhaps more so. “Lots of snow. A couple trees way out in the distance. Kinda weird, considering how hot they kept my room. I can’t tell where I am; I can’t stop running or they’re gonna ca—shit!”

Sam heard a volley of gunfire, and his heart almost stopped beating. He only allowed himself to breathe when he heard Steve gasping on the other end of the line. Finally, he burst into the room, causing both Tony and Natasha to jump in surprise, turning to him.

“I’ve got Steve on the line,” Sam announced, putting the call on speaker and placing the phone on the table at which Clint sat. Natasha and Tony gathered around the device, listening to the gunshots in shock.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., trace the call on Sam’s phone,” Tony ordered.

“On it, Boss,” the artificial intelligence program assured him, and a trace began on the call immediately.

“Steve!” Sam called. “Steve, can you hear us? Steve!”

“Sam, I’m pinned down,” Steve reported finally, his voice shaking as he gasped for air. “I don’t think...I’m not sure I can get out of this.”

“Don’t even think about giving up, Cap!” Clint broke in.

“Clint?” they could all hear the surprise in Steve’s voice, but their missing friend didn’t say anything else on the matter; a sharp cry of pain cutting off the conversation. They heard the phone clatter to the floor, followed by more gunfire.

“Rogers!” Tony called through the phone, worry and helplessness in his voice. “Rogers, what’s going on?”

“Talk to us, Cap,” Natasha chimed in, her hands clenched tightly into fists.

It didn’t sound like Steve even heard them, only firing back—they assumed, since the gunshots were louder and closer than the first few volleys—at his attackers, breathing loudly and undeniably in pain. The other Avengers tried to call out to him, tried to keep him talking, but before long, the call cut out, and the four friends were left to process with what they’d just heard.


End file.
